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i 
SPECIMENS 



OF THE 



Yorkshire Dialect, 

BY WAY OF DIALOGUE, 



CONTAINING 



a Sialoaue 



BETWEEN 

GULWELL, a LONDON REGISTER OFFICE KEEPER 

AND 

Margery Moorpoot, a Country Girl, 

A WD DAISY, AN ECLOGUE, 

A COCK AND BULL STORY, 

THE H1RE1NG, THE BELLMAN OF RIPON, 

The Yorkshire Tyke, fyc< 

To which :• added 
AND THE 

Life of William Nevison. 



ORLANDO HODGSON, 

Maiden Lane, Cheapside. 

1823. 






»> 



SPECIMENS 

OF 

THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT, 

BY WAY OF DIALOGUE, $c. 



MARGERY AND GULWELL ; 

A Dialogue between Gulwell, a 
London R gister Office-Keeper, 
and M a rger yMooupoot, a Coun- 
try Girl. 

Mar. Sur, an a body may be sa 
bowld. Ah's cum te ax an ye've 
sped about t' woman sarvant at ye 
advertahs'd for ? 

Gul. 1 have not; come nearer, 
young woman. 

Mar. Let me steyk t' deer first, 
an ye pleease. 

Gul. What countrywoman are 
you.-' 

Mar. Ah's Yorkshur by mah 
truly ! Ah wor bred and boorn at 
Lahtle Y r atton, aside o' Rosebery 
Toppin. 

Gul. Roseberry Toppin ! where 
is that, my pretty maid ? 

Mar. Sartainly man ! ye knaw 
Roseberry ? Ah thowght onny 
feeal hed knawn Roseberry ? It's 
t' biggest hill i' all Yorkshur. It's 
aboon a mahle an* a hawf heegh, 
and as cawd as ice at V top on't, 
t* yattest day i* summer ; that it is. 

Gul. You've been in some ser- 
vice, I suppose ? 

Mar. Hey, Ah'll uphold ye hev 
E, ivver sin E wor neen year awd. 
Nea makkins! ah'd a God's-penny 
at JStowseley market, hawf a year 
afoore *at E wor neen ; An' as good 



a sarvant Ah've been, thof Ah say 
it mysel, as ivver com within a 
pair o' deers. Ah can milk, ken, 
fbther, beeak, brew, sheear, win- 
der, caird, spin, knit, sew, an' 
deea ivvery thing 'at belangs tiv 
an husbandman, as weel as onny 
lass 'at ivver war clog-shun ; an' 
as to my charicter, Ah defy onny 
boddy, gentle or simple, to say 
black's mah nail. 

Gul. Have you been in any ser- 
vice in London ? - 

Mar. Hey, an' ye pleease. Ah 
liv'd wi' Madam Shrillpipe, i' St. 
Paul's Kirk Garth ; but wor foorc'd 
te leeave mah pleeace afoor 'at I'd 
been a week o* days in't, 

Gul. How so ? 

Mar. Marry, because she ommost 
flighted and scauded me oot o' 
mah wits. She wor t'arrantest 
scaud 'at ivver E met wi' i' my 
boorn days* She had sartainly 
sike a tongue as nivver wor i' 
onny woman's heead but her awn. 
It wad ring, ring, ring, like a la- 
rum, frae moorn t' neeght. Then 
she wad put hersel into sike flus* 
ters, that her feeace wad be as 
black as t' reckon creak. Neea, 
for t' matter o' that, Ah wor nob- 
but reeghtly sarrad, for Ah wor 
tell'd afoorehand, by some varra 
sponsible fowk, 'at she wor a mere 
donnot. Hoosumivver, as Ah land 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



mah mutiny grow less and less 
ivveryday, (for Ah'd brought mah 
good siven an' twenty shillings to 
neen groats and two-pence,) Ah 
thowght it wad be better to tak up 
wi' a bad pleeace, than no pleeace 
at all. 

Gul. And how do you like Lon- 
don ? 

Mar. Marry, sur, Ah like now- 
ther egg nor shell on't. They're 
sike a set o' fowk as E nivver seed 
tvi' my een. They laugh an' fleer 
at a body like onny thing. Ah 
"went nobbut t' other day t' V bea- 
ker's shop for a leaf o' breead, an' 
they fell a giggling at me, as in 
Ah'd been yan o' t' grittest gaw- 
visons i' t' warld. 

Gul. Pray, what is a gawvison ? 

Mar. Whan, you'rn a gawvison 
for nut knawing what it is. Ah 
thowght you Lunnoners hed knawn 
ivvery thing. A gawvison's a 
ninny-hammer. Noo, d'ye think 
*at Ah leak ought like a gawvison ? 

Gul. Not in the least, my pretty 
damsel. 

Mar. They may brag as they 
will o' ther manners, but they've 
ne mair manners than a miiner's 
horse. Ah can tell 'em that, that 
Ah can. Ah wish I'd been still at 
Canny Yatton. 

Gul. As you iiad so great a 
liking to the place, why did you 
leave it. 

Mar. Marry, sur, Ah wor foorc'd 
as yan may say, to leeave ; t' 
squire wad'nt let me be ; by mah 
truly, sur, he wor efter me moorn, 
neean, an' neeght. If Ah wad 
but hae consented tiv his wicked 
ways, Ah mud hae hed gowd by 
gowpins, that Ah mud. Leeak 
ye, squire, says Ah, your'r mis- 
takken i' me; Ah's neean o' ther 
soort o' cattle ; Ah's a varteous 
young woman, Ah'll asseer ye ; 
ye'er other fowk's fowk ; wad ye 
be sike a teeastril as te ruin me ? 
But all wadn't deea ; he kept 
follo'in' an' follo'in', an' teazin' an' 
teazin' me. At lang run, Ah tell'd 
my awd deeam, an' she advash'd 



me ta gang to Lun'on, to be out ov 
hiz way, that she did, like an 
honest woman as she wor. Ah 
went to my cousin Isbel, an' says 
Ah tiv her, Isbel, says Ah, will t' 
gowa to Lunnon ? Ah tell'd t' yal 
affair atween me an't squire. Ods- 
bobs, my lass, says she, Ah'll gang 
wi* thee to t' world's end. An 
away we com i' good earnest, 

Gul. It was a very varteous re- 
solution. Pray how old are you? 

Mar. Ah's neenteen come Collop 
Monday. 

Gul. Would you undertake a 
house-keeper's place ? 

Mnr. Ah's flay'd Ah can t* 
mannisht, if it beeant in a hus- 
bandman's house ? 

Gut. It is a very substantial 
farmer's, in Buckinghamshire. I 
am sure you will do ; I will set 
you down for it. Your name. 

Mar. Margery Moorpoot, an ye 
please. 

Gul How do you spell it ? 

Mar. Neea, makkings ! Ah 
knaw nowght o' speldring : Ah's 
nea scholard. 

Gul. Well, I shall write to him 
this evening. What wages do you 
ask? 

Mar. Neea, marry, for t' matter 
o' that, Ah wad'nt be ower stiff 
about wages. 

Gul. Then I can venture to as- 
sure you of it. You must give me 
half-a-crown, my pretty maid. 
Our fee is only a shilling for a 
common place, but for a house- 
keeper's we have always half-a 
crown. 

Mar, There's tweea shillings, 
an' yan, tweea, three, four, fahve, 
six penn'orth o' brass, wi' a thoo- 
sand thenks. A blessing leeght 
o' yee, foi Ah's seer ye'er t' best 
friend Ah've met wi' sin E com 
fra' Canny-Yatton, that are ye. 
When mun E call ageean, sur ? 

Gul. About the middle of next 
week. 

Mar. Sur, an ye pleease, youi 
sarvant. 






The Yorkshire Dialect. 



AWD DAISY. 

An Eclogue.* By the late Rev T. 
Browne, Hull. 

Goorgy. Weel met, good Robert, 

saw ye my awd meer ; 
I've lated her an hoor, i' t' loonin 

here, 
But, howsumiver, spite of all my 

care, 
I cannot spy her nowther head nor 

hair. 
Robert. Whaw, Goorgy, I've to 

teyl ye dowly news, 
Syke as l'se varra seer will make 

ye muse : 
I just this minnet left your poor 

awd tyke, 
Dead as a steean, i' Johnny Dob- 
son's dy r ke. 
Goorgy. Whoor ! what's that, 

Robin ? tell us owre ageean ; 
You're joking, or you've inebby 

been mistean. 
Robert. Nay, marry, Goorgy, I 

seer I can't be wrang, 
You kno I've keyn'd awd Daisy 

now se lang; 
Her bread-rateh'd feeace, an' twa 

white hinder legs, 
Preav'd it was hor, as seer as eggs 

is eggs. 
Goorgy. Poor thing ! what deead 

then ? had she laid there lang ? 
Whor abouts is she ? Robert, will 

you gang ? 
Robert. I care nut, Goorgy, I 

han't much te dea, 
A good hour's labour, or may hap- 
pen twea ; 
Bud as IniwerJike tohingbehind, 
When I can dea a kaundness tiv a 

frynd, 
An' I can help you, wi'" my hand 

or team, 
1M help to skin her, or to bring 

her beam. 
Goorgy. Thank ye, good Robert 

I enn't think belike, 
How t' poor awd creature tumbled 

inte t'dyke. 
Robert. Ye maund she'd fun 

hersen just gaun te dee, 



An' sea laid down by t* side, ^as 

seeams to me,) 
An' when she felt the pains o' death 

within, 
She fick'd an' struggled, an' se 

towpled in. 
Goorgy. Meast lickly ; bud — 

what, was she dead outreet, 
When ye furst gat up? when ye 

gat t' furst seet ? 
Robert Youse hear: as*I was 

gaun down 't looan I spy'd 
A scoore or mair o' crows by t' 

gutter side ; 
All se thrang, hoppin in, and hop- 
pin out, 
I wonder'd what i* the warld they 

were about. 
I leuks, an' then I sees an awd 

yode laid, 
Gaspin' an' pantin* there, an ora- 

most dead ; 
An' as they pick'd its een, and 

pick'd ageean, 
It just cud lift its leg, and give a 

greean ; 
But v\hen I fand awd Daisy was 

their prey, 
I wav'd my hat, an' shoo'd em all 

away. 
Poor Dais ! — ye maund, she's now 

woorn fairly out, 
She's lang been quite hard sett te 

trail about. 
But yonder, Goorgy, loo' ye whoor 

she's laid, 
An' twea 'r three Nanpies chatt'rin 

owre her head. 
Goorgy. Aye, marry! this I niv- 

ver wish'd to see, 
She's been se good, se true a frynd 

te me ! 
An' is thou cum te this, my poor 

poor awd meer ? 
Thou's been a trusty sarvantmonny 

a year, 
An' better treatment thou's de- 

sarvM fra me, 
Than thus neglected in a dyke te 

dee ! 
Monny a day work we ha' wrought 

togither, 
An' bidden monny a blast o' wind 
and weather ; 



Tlie Yorkshire Dialect. 



Monny a lang dree maule, owre 

moss an' moor, 
An' monny a hill and deeal we've 

travell'd owre ; 
But now, weeas me ! thou'll niv- 

ver trot ne mair, 
Te nowther kirk nor market, spoort 

nor fair ; 
And now, fort* future, thoff I's 

awd and learn, 
I mun be foorc'd te walk, or stay 

at beam, 
Ne mair thou'l bring me cooals 

fra' Blakay brow, 
Or sticks fra't wood, or turves 

fra' Leaf how cow. 
My poor awd Daise ! afoor I dig 

th> greeave, 
Thy weel-woorn shoon I will for 

keep-seeakes seeave ; 
Thy hide, poor lass! I'll hev it 

taun'd wi' care, 
Twill male' a cover te my awd 

airm chair, 
An' pairt an appron for my wife te 

weear, ' 
When card in* woul, or weshin' t' 

parlour fleer 
Deep i' t' cawd yearth I will thy 

carcase pleeace, . 
? At thy poor beeans may lig, and 

rist i' peeace ; 
Deep V t' cawd yearth, 'at dogs 

may'nt scrat thee out, 
An' rauve thy flesh, an trail thy 

beeans about. 
Thou's been se faithful for se lang 

te me, 
Thoo sannutat thy death neglect- 
ed be; 
Seyldom a Christian 'at yan now 

can fynd, 
Wad be mair trusty or mair tru^ 

a frynd. 

THE INVASION. 

An Eclogue. : 

Impius hcEc tarn culta not- alia miles 
habebit ?— Virg. 

A wanton wether had disdain'd 

the bounds 
That kept him close confin'd to 

Willy's grounds ; 



Broke through the hedge, he wan- 

der'd far away, 
He knew not whither on the pub* 

lie way. 

As Willy strives, with all attentive 

care, 
The fence to strengthen and the 

gap repair, 
His neighbour Roger, from the 

fair return'd, 
Appears in sight, in riding graith 

adorn'd ; 
Whom, soon as Willy fast ap- 
proaching spies, 
Thus to his friend, behind he 

hedge, he cries : 
Willy. Hoo de ye, Roger? ha' 

ye been at t' fair ? 
Hoo gangs things ? meead ye onny 

bargains there ? 
Roger. Ah knaw nut, Willy ; 

things deeant luke ower w eel, 
Coorn satles fast, thof beeans 'il 

fetch a deeal ; 
Te sell t' awd intack barley Ah 

desaund, 
Sut cudn't git a price te suit my 

maund ; 
What wi' rack rents, an' sike a 

want o' trade, 
Ah knovyn't hoo yan's te git yan's 

landloords paid ; 
Mare ower an' that, they say i't 

spring o't year, 
French is intarminM on't te 'tack 

us here. 
Willy. Yea, mun ! what are they 

cummin hither for r 
Depend on't they'd far better niv- 

ver st or. 
Roger. True, Willy ; nobbutln- 

glishmen M stand 
By yan another, o' ther own good 

land ; 
They'll never suffer (Ah's be bun 

to say) 
The Franch to tak a single sheep 

away ; 
Feightin for heeame, upo v ther 

awn fair field, 
All t' pow'r i" France cud nivver 

mak 'em yield. 
Willy. Whar, seer you can no 

think, when' put te t' pinch, 
Anonny Inglishman 'l\ ivverfiinch 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



If t' Franch deea cum here, Roger, 

Ah'll be hang'd, 
A n' they deeant git thir sens reeght 

soundly bang'd. 
Ah can't bud think, (thof Ah may 

be misteean,) 
Nut monny on 'era '11 get back 

ageean. 
Roger. Ah think nut, Willy ; 

bud sum fowks say, 
Our Inglish fleet let Franch ships 

get away, 
When they vvor laid (thoo knaws) 

i' Bantry Bay, 
'At they cud nivver all hae geen 

'em t' slip. 
Bud t' Inglish wanted nui V tak 

a ship. 
Willy. Eah! that's all lees ! 
Roger. Ah dunnot say its true, 
It's all unknawn to syke as me and 

you. 
Hoo deea we knaw when fleets 

deea reeght or wrang ? 
Ah whooap it's all on't fause, but 

see a talks gang. 
Iloosivver, this Ah knaw, 'at when 

they pleease, 
Oor sailors awlus beat 'em upo' 

t' seeas ; 
And if they nobbut sharply leeak 

aboot, 
They need n't let a single ship cum 

oot. 
For Howe, lang sen, thoo knaws, 

did bang 'em w r eel, 
An' Jarvis meead the braggado- 

shas feel ; 
An' Duncan beeat th' Franch at 

Camperdown, 
Whilst Nelson gat in Egypt vast 

renown ; 
An' tho' at last, poor fellow, he did 

fail, 
He liv'd, thenk God, until he beat 

'em all ! 
Why vany lally our brave lads 

hev ta'en 
Th' fleets and stoors belanging te 

th' Dean ; 
An' yet they'll drub 'em weel, Ah 

dunnot fear, 
An' keep 'em fairly off fra' landin' 
here. 



Willy. Ah whooap sea, Roger ; 

bud an' if they deea 
Cum ower, Ah then sal sharpen 

my awd leea. 
What thof Ah can but ov a lahtle 

booast, 
Ye knaw yan wad'nt hae that 

lahtle lost ; 
Ah'ssend oor Mally an' all t'bairns 

away, 
An Ah my sen '11 by th' yamsteead 

stay. 
Ah'll feight if need, un' if Ah fall 

wha then, 
Ah's suffer all the waist mishap 

mysen ; 
Was Ah bud seer my wife and 

bairns wor seeaf, 
Ah then sud be te dee content 

eneeaf. 
Roger. Reeght, Willy, mun !— 

w r hat an' they put us teea't, 
Ah will mysen put forrad mah best 

feeat. 
What thof Ah's awd, Ah's nut 

seea easily scar'd, 
On his awn middin' an awd cock 

feights hard. 
They saw a Franchman's turn'd a 

ditferent man, 
A braver, better soldier, ten te yan, 
But let the Franch be turn'd to 

" what they will, 
They'll find 'at Inglishman are tn- 

$\\s\- Ftili ; 
C ther awn grand they'll nowther 

flinch nor flet , 
They'll owther ccngker, or they'll 

bi^elv dee. 



A COCK AND BULL STORY. 

Whatdusteh think, Dick? Whiah 
Ah noant, Tom. — Whiah then 
Ah'll tell thee. Yesterneet, a bit 
afoore it wur dark, a Foomerd gat 
croppen up intot' Hen-Bawks, an' 
freeten'd t'ode Cock doon into r* 
Ows Beeas, an' meead him breck't 
band, an' dingt deer off t' creaks ; 
awea E went full smack ower't 
Yat, brack t' sneck-and twa slices 



1 



The Yorkshire Dialect* 



off,) reight intot' Fofe Clooas ; he ] 
ran owert' Pleeaf, an' cut yan ov | 
his legs sadly o' t' Cooter. Jooan 
Chopsticks and t' wreet wur cum- 
ming wee his little weffing dog, 
and freeten'd him thruff t' gap into 
t' Coo-pastur, an't Bull set up a 
great beeal, an' set off wee hin» 
Our lads ran efter 'em, an' it wui 
hoo thoo ! an' noo thoo ! a greeat 
while, tilt' owslowpt owert' hedge 
intil a line-dike, and Bull efter 
him, reeght atop on his back. They 
meead a bonny blash i' t' dyke. 
T' lads ran yam an' fetcht a cart 
reeap, an' threw't owert bull 
hoorns, an' seeah gat him oot 
ageean ; bud t' 'ows gat awea fra 
'era, an' ran ontot' moor, an' trade 
an ode stegto deeath ; bud thare 
wur a goodly bargains on him, for 
he wur good for nowt ! Then he 
lowpt ower a high stee into a tatee 
clooas, an' thade been macking a 
tatee pie E yah corner, an' he gat 
atop on't, an' ommost trade it all 
te bits. Man 'at oand clooas com 
and roister'd like mad, an' sware 
he'd mack oor maister pay lor all 
t' tatees. M hat cud we say tot' 
fellah ? for he seeam'd quiet lunjies 
an" Ah thowt heed stuckent 'ows 
wi't muckfork heed in his hand. 
Bud when his'passion wurkeeal'd 
a bit, he sed, " Cum me lads, let's 
try if weh can't drive him into t' 
helm an' catch him, that yeh may 
get him yam ageean." Seeah, 
efter a greeat deal teh deea, we 
gat him droven intot' helm, an't 
becast wur ommost freeten'd oot 
on't wits, an' wur all on a mack 
sweeat, an' trimmel'd like an Espin 
leeaf ; we put a helter aboot his 
heead, an' led him doon t' moor 
looan, an' a lang, dree, dowly way 
it is, an' as mucky as mucky ! At 
last we gat him yam, an' wur all 
reeght tifd wi t' jubberment we'd 
had. When we'd tell'd oor maister 
all about it, he sed, " You've had 
a weeant deal a trouble aboot this 
rotten beast; fassen him in his 
beeas ageean, an' give him sum 



hay, anVmack yast back, for here 9 
a'yat yall posset for yer supper. 



THE HIREING, 

A Dialogue between J o h n a nd Ro b i if 
two Husbandmen. 

John. Robin, you've don'd your- 

san reeght seean, 
Ah sudden't wonder bud you've 

left awd deeame, 
An's boon, mayhap, te seek a 

pleeace, 
An' if seea,Rob,its just my keease. 
Se, if ye like, we'll gang tegither, 
An' tawk, like greeat folks, about 

t' weather. 
Robin. Why, John, you've gest, 

Ah've left awd lass. 
For things w r or cum te sike a pas s , 
That for my life Ah cudden't stay, 
An' se, thou sees, Ah's cum'd 

away. 
John. Why, Robin, Ah cud like 

to hear 
What's made ye leeave your place 

this year; 
For Ah thought ye'd a merry life, 

An' bid fair there te get a wife. 
Robin. An' seea Ah did at furst, 

thou sees, 
Till deeame brought back her bon- 
ny niece 
Fra Scarbro', where she went tid 

Spaws, , 
Te drink soat water Ah suppose ; 
And ever sen that bonny lass 
Tid farm did cum, t' awd crazy ass 
Has taen it in hur silly head, 
That Ah wid Nancy wad get wed. 
Bud Ah fun out, before 'twas lang, 
That deeame did wish te wed hur 

man; 
Bud Ah was not ower fond o' th' 

stuff, 
Which put t' awd lady in a huff. 
Nay, yance she teld me hur awn 

sen, 
If Ah thought weel o' th* match v 

why then 
She quickly wad give me hut 

hand, 



The Yorkshire Dialect, 



Five hundred pounds, wi' house 

an' land ; 
And, Bob, says she, its no bad 

chance, 
Setter behawf than marrying 

Nance ; 
For she has nowther coo nor horse, 
An' varry lahtle in hur purse ; 
BudAh expect thou'll counsel keep 
An' leeak afoore thou taks that 

leeap. 
An' se Ah did, and went away ; 
For as Ah didden't like her, John, 
Ah thought it best for te begone, 
An' leeave my deeame and hur 

niece Nance, 
An* at these stattis tak my chance. 

Now it fell out that very day, 
As through the fair they took then- 
way, 
Young Robin with a country 

Squire . . 

Had the good fortune for to hire. 
On Whitsun-Monday, as a dance, 
He chanc'd to meet his sweetheart 

Nance ; 
She liv'd hard bv,and so, you see, 
Robin and her did quickly agree ; 
Rob clapt love to her, and next 

year 
This'loving couple married were ; 
At which his deeame did rave like 

mad, 
But dying— left 'em all she had. 



THE BELLMAN OF RIPON. 

The Bellman's Cry at Rip<m, in 

Yorkshire, in a great Frost and Fall 
of Snow. 

I is to gie notidge, that Joanie 
Pickesgill yeats yewn to neit, to 
moarn at moarn, an' to moarn at 
neit. an' nea ranger, as long as 
storm hods, cause he can git na 
mair eldin. 

THE TRANSLATION. 

I am to give notice, that John 
Pickersgill heats his oven to-night, 
to-morrow morning,and to-morrow 
at night, and no longer, as Img as 
the storm lasts, because he can 
get no moie fuel, 



A DIALOGUE 

On the present indecent Mode of 
Dress. 

Simon, Good morrow, Johnny, 

hoo deea ye deea ? 
If you're boon my rooad, Ah'll 

gang wi' ye. § 

Hoo cawd this morning t wind 

dus blaw ; 
Ah think we seean sal hae sum 

snaw. 
Johnny. Heigh, Simon, seea we 

sal ere lang, 
Ah's boon to I' toon ; Ah wish 

ye'd gang, 
For Ah've a dowghter leeatly 

deead, — 
Ah's boon te git her coffin meead. 
Simon. Heigh! Johnny, deead! 

whah seer you're wrang, 
For she wur wi' us e'er seea lang, 
An' oft wi' her, i' yonder booer, 
Ah've jooak'd an' laugh'd full 

monny an hoor. 
Bud first, good Johnny, tell m« 

this, 
What meead her dee ? what's been 

amiss ? 
Johnny. To tell thee, Simon, 

noo Ah's boon : — 
Thoo sees Ah sent her to yon toon 
To t' skeeal, an* next to ieedrn a 

trade, 
By which she was te git her 

breead ; 
Bud wheh she first com yam to me, 
She had neea petticoats, ye see : 
A t firstAh fan she'd bud hersmock, 
An' ower that her tawdry frock ; 
Sike wark as this it rais'd my 

my passion, 
An' then she tcll'd me— it wag t* 

fassion ; 
Besides her appron, efter all, 
She'd quite misteean itfor asbaw], 
A sartin sign she sense did lack. 
She'd teean and thrown it ower 

hur back ; 
Hur shoon had soles savarrathin, 
They'd nought keep out, but let 

wet in ; 
And round her neck she lapp'd a 

rufT 
Of rabbit skin, or sum sike stuff; 



10 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



Instead of wearing a good cloak, 
Te keep hur warm when she did 

. walk, 
Fra heame to market, or to fair, 
Or yance a week to church repair. 
Besides, thoo sees, she had neea 

stays, 
An* scarce eneeaf by hoaf of clais ; 
An' hur white hat turned up be- 

foore, 
All meead her leeak just like a 

wh re ! 
Simon. Wha, Johnny, stop, you'r 

oot o' breath ; 
But hoocom she to git hur deeath? 
Johnny. Wha, Simon, stay, an' 

thoo sal hear : 
Ft next pleeace mun hur breests 

wor bare ; 
Hur neeaked airms teea she lik'd 

te show, 
E'en when t' cawd bitter wind did 
p blaw ; 

An* when Ah talk'd about it then, 
(You see Ah's awlus by my sen,) 
Hur mother awlus leean'd hur v. ay 
It mattered nowght what Ah'd to 

say. 
Ah tell'd my wife hoo it wad be, 
An* seea she can't lig't bleeam o' 

me ; 
Says Ah, foore she's twice ten 
► <* years awd, 
Shee's seer te git hur deeath o' 

cawd. 
For this mishap Ah bleeam that 

feeai, 
For spoiling hur at Boarding 

Skeeal ; 
Noo hed she meead hur larn hur 

letter 5 , 
Instead o'dressing like hur betters, 
She'd nutse seeon hae git ten cawd 
An meaby liv'd till she Wor av\d. 
Ah's seer its all greeat fowk's 

pursuit, 
To hev, like Eve, a birthday suit. 
Simon. Thoo's reeght, good 

Johnny, reeght Ah say, 
That Ah've obsarv'd afoorf to-day ; 
An' nooi' toon, as each van passes, 
Yan Crin't tell ladies fra bad lasses ; 
An' oft Ah've thought, when t' 

cawd wind blaws, 



They'd deea reeght weel te freegh. 

ten craws ; 
For it wad blaw 'em seea aboot, 
Nea cashun then ther'd be te 

shoot. 
Just seea if that thee and me 
\n ugly monstrous thing should 

see, 
Away we beath sud run reeght 

fast, 
As lang as ever we cud last. 
Johnny. Hey, Simon, seea we 

sud, Ah seear ; 
Bud noo to t' toon we're drawing 

neear, 
Thoo needn't tell what Ah hev sed 
Aboot my dowghter being deead. 
Good mi. now, Simon, fare thee 

weel ; 
Ah sa, noo mind thoo does'nt tell. 
Simon. Neea that Ah weeant, 

whahi Ah hev breeath, 
Ah'll nobbut say— She's sturv'd te 

deeath. 



DARBY AND JOAN, AND 
THEIR DAUGHTER NELL. 

A Dialogue. 

In a village in Yorkshire a far- 
mer did dwell, 
Whose wife was call'd Joan, and 

their daughter call'd Nell ; 
She was mother's pet, and so, d'ye 

see, 
At sixteen years old wish'd a lady 

to be ; 
But her dancing and dressing sore 

griev'd the man, 
Who to vent his complaint to Joan 

thus began, 
Darb-t. Joan, Ah noo hev thought 

sea mich aboot it, 
Ah seerly never mair shall doot it ; 
At moorn an' neeght, an neeglit 

an' moorn, 
Ah sumtimes wish Ah'd ne'er been 

boom. 
Joan. AVhah, Darby, prethee let 

me see, 
Ah whoap it's nowght 'at's bad o* 

me. 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



U 



Darby Thee, Joan! neea marry, 

neea sike thing ; 
Think bad o' thee ! 'twad be a sin ! 
Ah think indeed Ah was a feeal,, 
Too send oor Nell to t' Boordin' 

Skeeal ; 
Sike mauky feeals as them, Ah 

think, 
Hae filld her head with pride and 

stink ; 
For, sin sne went, she's grown so 

fine, 
She can't deea noo without her 

wine, 
When t' dinners ower'd ; an* she's 

sea nice, 
She weant eat puddin meead o' 

rice ; 
Thof when at skeeal, an' put V 

pinch, 
Fra sike gud stuff she'd nivver 

flinch ; 
An' all her nooations are seea 

rais'd, 
It's fit to drive her fathther craz'd. 
Nut at* Ah care aboot t' fond lass, 
Neea mair then this— it taks my 

bras ; 
An' wi' her fine lang labbring tail, 
She'll git her father into t' jail. 
Joan. Whah, Darby, bud thoo 

knaws ther's t' Squire, 
An' he mayhap will Nell admire ; 
An' efter all their noise an' strife, 
Thoo knaws t' young 'Squire wants 

a wife. 
Then let's be seer ta inak her 

smart, 
An' teych her hoo te play her 

paart ; 
Te draw him on she seean will 

leearn, 
An' then, thoo knaws, 'at t' wark 

is deean. 
Hooseer, Ah'll try an' deea my 

best, 
An' leeave to thee to mannish t' 

rest. 
Darby, Bud then suppooase oor 

plot sud fail, 
An' me for det be sent te t' jail, 
Poor Nell wad nivver be a wife, 
An' hev te labour all hur life ; 
For efter bein seea brought up, 



Hoo can she ivver bide te stoop 
Te gang te sarvice, or te spin, 
Or ivver te deea onny thing P 
Joan> M 7 ha, Darby, leeave it al» 

te me, 
Ah'll mannisht V weel, an' that 

thoo'll see. 
And so she did, as fame reports, 
For the 'Squire being fond of rura* 

sports, 
Did sometimes to the farm repair, 
(After a chace of fox or hare,) 
And she invited him to dine 
On Nell's birth-day — they'd pie 

and chine. 
The young 'Squire lik'd the fare so 

well, 
That he soon after married Nell ; 
And as they drove to church doon 

t' looan, 
Old Darby cried — Well deean, oor 

Joan I 



THE SWEEPER & THIEVES. 
A Tale, by D. Lewis. 

[This Tale is founded on fact, and 
happened at Leemtng Lane, a few 
years ago.'] 

A sweeper's lad was late o' th' 

neeght, 
His slap-shod shoon had leeam'd 

his feet ; 
He call'd to see a good awd 

deeame, 
'At monny a time had triggM his 

4 weame ; 
(For he wor then fahve miles i>a 

yam.) 
He ax'd i* t' lair te let him sleep, 
An' he'd next day their chimlers 

sweep. 
They supper'd him w' country 

fare, 
Then show'd him tul his hooal i' f 

lair. 
He crept intul his streeahy bed, 
His pooak o' seeat beneath his 

heead : 
He wor content, nur car'd a pin, 
An' his good friend then loek'd 

him in. 



12 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



The lair frae t' hoose a distance 

stood, 
Between 'em grew a lahtle wood. 
Aboot midneeght, or nearer moorn, 
Two thieves brack in te steeal ther 

coorn ; 
Hevin a leeght i' t' lantern dark, 
Seean they te winder fell te wark, 
An' wiseing they'd a lad te fill, 
Young brush, (whea yet had liggM 

quite still,) 
Thinkin' 'at men belang'd te t' 

hoose, 
An* that he nood mud be o' use, 
Jump'd down directly on te t' 

fleear, 
An' thieves beeath ran oot at 

deear ; 
Nur stopt at owt nur thin nur 

thick, 
Fully convinc'd it wor awd Nick. 
The sveeper lad then ran reeght 

seean 
T t' hoose, an' tell'd 'em what wor 

deean ; 
Maister an' men then quickly raise, 
An' ran te ** lair wi' hawf ther 

cleeas. 
Twea horses, seeks, 'an* leeght 

they fand, 
Which had been left by t' thievish 

band ; 
These round i' t' neybourheed they 

cried, 
Bud nut an awner e'er applied ; 
For neaan durst horses awn or 

seeks, 
They wor so freeghten'd o' ther 

necks. 
They seld the horses, an', of course, 
Put awf o' the brass i' Sooty's 

purse ; 
Desirjng when he com that way,i 
He'd awl us them a visit pay, 
When harty welcum he sud have, 
Because he did ther barley save. 
Brush chink'd the guineas in his 

hand, ' 
An' oft to leeak at 'em did stand, 
As heeame he wistling teak his 

way ; 
Blessin' t' awd deeame wha let 

him stay, 



An' sleep i' t' lair, when, late o 1 

neeght, 
His slap-shod shoon had leeam 

his feet. 



I 






THE POCKET-BOOKS. 
A Dialogue. By D. Lewis. 

[Occasioned by a New Pocket- Booh 

being thrown into a Desk when 

an Old one had been laid.] 

New Pocket- Book. Why am I here 

a captive plac'd, 
£And with such company di* 

grae'd ? 
I may with reason now complain 
Fine books, like men, were 

made in vain. 
Old Pocket- Book. Thy keease, kind 

frind, can't be se hard, 
As thy new maister is a bard 
The ass-skin leeavs 'at thoo'U 

conteean, 
He'll write 'em ower an* o 

ageean, 
' Wi' sonnets, epigrams, an' odes, 
Wi' elegies an' episodes ; 
Teoo'U beear the copies ovjii 

sangs, 
An' gang wi* him where'er h« 

gangs. 
If there sud be a country fair, 
He ten to yan '11 tak thee therl; 
Keep thee on high an' hollidays, 
When he puts on his better 

cleeas ; 
If bill or nooat fall to his share, 
He will commit it to thy care,* 
Till monny years, when tho| 

may be, 
As ragg'd an' just as poor as md 
Dooant let grief reign, nor thl 

heart ache, 
He'll keep thee for thy giver 

seeak. 
Netc Pocket- Book. Dost thou con 

pare thyself to me ? 
If thou could'st but thy pictu 

see, 
Thy ragged coat, thy dirty looIJ 
Scarce worthy of the name o | 

book. 



The Yorkshire Dialect* 



13 



And must I to the fields retire, 
Be prostituted to the lyre. 
Companion of rustic swain, 
And ne'er return to town again ? 
\>ld Pocket- Book. True, thoo of 

heigher kin may boost, 
J Of finer shape, an' bigger cost ; 
Thoo's neeat an' smart, Ah mun 
I alloo, 

Bud thoo will quit that bonny 
I hue, 

When thoo, like me, hes hard- 
\ ships boorn, 
An' been by toil an' labour 

woorn ; 
l't hoose or field, by streeam or 

iwood, 
Ah constant i' my station stood, 
An' nivver did man aid refuse, 
Te sarve mah maister, an' the 

muse. 
Te gratify the rhyming streean, 
He wrate an' rubb'd, an wrate 

ageean ; 
That Ah, like him, lang time 
I hev toil'd, 

Which hes mah yance-fine lus- 
tre spoird. 
fThoo's yet a stranger to the 

world, 
. "Where things appear unequal 

hurl'd ; 
Still different stations ther mun 

be, 
Thof monny mair '11 freeat like 

thee. 
Then dooant lament thy turns of 

fate, 
Bud reconcile thee to thy state. 



ADDRESS TO RICHES. 

Bonny lass, wi' yellow hair, 
Iv thoo hez an.hoor to spare, 

Pray lig aside thy shyness ; 
Ah'll call thee riches, munny, gold, 
Or o*iny neeame by which thoo's 
told, 

Or owt te pleease thy highness. 

Thoo hardly heeds the tryin' hoor 
O' sons o' Genius, when they're 
poor, 



Thoo seldom will restoore 'em 5 
Bud them that nivver sout thy 

smile, 
Blockheads an' dunces, live i* 
style, 
Had fadders boorn afoore 'em. 

It's munny maks the meer te gang, 

Maks rang seeam reeght, an' 

reeght seeam rang; « 

There's nowght i' t' warld can 

match it. 

E tackin munney maist fowks 

prize — 
If onny bcdy it despise, 

It's cause they cannut catch it. ■ 

Forseeak the mizar's clooase re- 
treat, 
The coffers ov the guilty greeat, 

Wi' plund'rin fill'd, or gamlin' ; 
Sike gert fowks haz abuse the 

state, 
On whea the men o' munny waite, 
That keeps poor fowks cramlin'. 

Ah dunnot want a gert estate, 
For if Ah did, thoo'd let me wait, 

That Ah may seeafly lend thee; 
Nut ower mitch,te mack me proud, 
Leeak ower t' meean a man a 
crood, 

Bud just eneeaf to mend me. 

Cum wi' a swarm o' lucks an* 

looaves, 
That oft gangs wi' thee when thoo 
moves, 
O' guinea nooats tack thoot he 
shap, 
Or o' kings pictures a gert slap, \ 
Or ten punds bank of Ingland. 

Th*? n frends se shy, i' time o* need, 
"Wiil gi' me what E want wi' speed, 

An' stick as clooase as hunny; 
Gi' ther advice, ther cash, ther yal, 
Or heear or tell a mervy teeal, 

An' all through thee — sweet 
munny ! 



ADDRESS TO POVERTY. 

Scoolin maid, o' iron brow, 

Thy sarvant will address thee now, 



u 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



For thoo invites the freedom, 
By drivin off my former friends, 
To leeak to ther awn private ends, 

Just when Ah chanc'd to need 
'em. 

Ah've hed thy company owerlang, 
lllleakinweean! thoo mustbe rang 

Thus to cut short my jerkin. 
Ah ken thee weel — Ah knaw thy 

ways, 
Thoo's awlus kept back cash and- 

cleeas, 
y An' foorc'd me to hard workin. 

To gain o' thee a yal day's march 

Ah strave, bud thoo's se varra 

arch, 

For all Ah still strave faster ; 

Thoo's tript my heels and meead 

me stop*, 
By small slain coorn, or failin crop, 
Or ivv'ry foul disaster. 

If Ah my maund may freely speeak, 
Ah really dunnut like thy leeak, 

Whativver shap thoo's slipt on ; 
Thoo's awd an' ugly, deeaf an' 

blinnd, 
A feeind afoore, a freeght behind, 

An' fooul asMudder Shipton. 

Fooaks say, an' it is nowght bud 

truth, 
Thoo hes been wi' me from my 
youth, 
An' gi'en me monny a thumper, 
Bud noo thoo cums, wi" all thy 

i weight, 
Fast failin' frae a fearful height, 
A downreeght Milton plumper. 

Sud plenty, frae her copious hoorn, 
Teeam oot te me good crops o' 
coorn, 
An' prosper weel my cattle. 
An* send a single thoosana pund, 
'Twad bring all things compleeatly 
roound, 
An' Ah wod gi' thee battle. 

Noo, Poverty, ya thing Ah beg, 
Like a poor man withoot a leg, 

See pretheedaun'tdeceeave me, 
Ah knaw it's i' thy poower te ?rant 
The lahtle faver 'at Ah- want — 

'At thoo wad gang an' leeave me. 



THE RACE. 

Noo, Bob, my lad, to-moorn's the 
day, 
All t' spoort at t' race we'll see ; 
Wi* t' lark we'll rise, an* trudge 
away, 
An' varra fine we'll be. 
Te see 'em ride, thoo knaws, seea 
fast, 
As roound about they'll gang, 
They'll whip an' spur, te nut be 
last, 
Ah say noo ! dust t' lang ! 
What fouks all fine we theer sal 
see, 
V diffurent colours drest ; 
An' lasses, te cheat sike as thee, 

Will be all i' ther best. 
An' theer we'll stop while t' races 

last, 
An' alTt fine fouks are gesan ; 
Fra thence to t' fair we'll trudge 
reet fast, 
Te reeach it afoore neean, 
Tegither then that day we'll keep, 

Wi' sticks i' hand soea fine; 

At sum o' t' shows we'll tak a peep, 

*Ah's seer that day we'll shine I 

Theer soldiers will be ganging oot, 

Wi' drums and fifes seea grand, 

Recrutin for young lads aboot, 

To fight by seea an' land. 
Noo wi' impatience we deea wait 

The cummin o' that day ; 
We'll off seea seean, an' stop seea 
late, 
Cum, Bob, noo let's away. 



THE FAIR. 

Ye loit'rin minnits foster flee, 
Ye're all ower slaw behawf forme, 
That wait impatient for the 
moorning ; 
Te-moorn's the lang, lang wish'd 

for fair, 
Ah'll try te shine the foormust 
theer, 
Myself i' finest cleens adoorning, 
Te grace the day. 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



15 



Ah'll ptft my best white stockings 

on, 
A pair o' new cawf-letther shoon, 
My cleean-wesh'd goon o' print- 
ed cotton ; 
Aboot ray neck a muslin shawl, 
A new silk hankecher ower all, 
Wi' sike a careless air Ah'll put 
on, 

Ah'il shine that day. 

My paartner Ned, Ah knaw, 

thinks he, 
" Ah'll mak mysen secure o' thep," 
He's often sed h'd treeat me 
rarely ; 
Bud Ah sal think ov other fun, 
Ah'll yaim fur sum rich former's 
son, 
An' cheat oor simple Neddy 
fairly, 

Seea sly that day. 

Why sud Ah nut succeed as weel, 
An* get a man full oot genteel, 
As awd John Darby's dowghter 
Nelly ; 
Ah think mysen as good as she, 
She can't mak cheese or spin like 
me, 
That's mair 'an beauty, let me 
tell ye, 

On onny day. 

Then, hey ! for spoorts an' puppy- 

shows, 
An' temptin spice-stalls rang'd i' 
rows, 
An' danglin dolls, by t' necks 
all hangin ; 
A thoosand other pratty seeghts, 
An' lasses, trail'd alang the streets, 
Wi' lads, te t' yal-house gangin 
Te drink that day. 
Let's leeak at t' winder — Ah can 

see% 
It seeams as thef 'twas growin 
leeght, 
The cloods wi' early rays a- 
doornin ; 
Ye loit'ring minnits faster flee, 
Ye're all ower slaw behawf for me, 
!At wait impatient for the 
moornin, 

O sike a day ! 



SONG. 

When Ah wor a wee lahtle totter- 
in bairn, 
Ah' hed nobbut just getten 
- short frocks, 
When te gang Ah at first was be- 
ginnin to lairn, 
O' my broo Ah gat monny hard . 
knocks. 

Bud se waik, an' se silly, an' help- 
less was I, 
Ah was awlus a tumblin down 
then ; 
While my mother wad twattle me 
gently, an' cry, 
" Honey, Jenny, tack care o' 
thysen." 

Bud wen Ah grew bigger, an' gat 
te be Strang, 
At Ah cannily ran all aboot 
By mysen, wheer Ah lik'd, then 
awlus mud gang, 
Withoot being tett'd aboot owt. 

When, hooiwer, Ah com to be six- 
teen year awd, 
An' rattl'd an' ramp'd amang 
men, 
My mother wad call o' me in an' 
wad scaud, 
An' cry — u Huzzay ! tak care o* 
thysen." 

i 
Ah've a sweetheart cums noo upo 
Setterday neeghts, 
An' he swears 'at he'll mack me 
his wife ; 
My mam grows se stingey, she 
scauds an' she fleeghts, 
An' twitters me out o' my life. 

Bud she may leeak soor, an con- 
sait hersen wise, 
An' preach ageean liking young 
men • 
Sin Ah's grown a woman, her 
clack Ah'll despise, 
An Ah's — —marry ! tak care o' 
mysen. 



16 



The Yorkshire Dialect. 



A LETTER, 

Discovered in the Library of a de- 
ceased Nobleman,and supposed to have 
been written during the Rebellion* 

My Loord, 

Ye knaw there's an awd pro- 
verb — a man can dea neamare nea 
he can dea — wur Ah the d — 1 his- 
sen Ah can na mack men gang an* 
they ha' nea mind to't; as angry as 
ye seeam wi' me, gin ye'd beean 
heer yersen, ye cud na mack 'em 
stir yan feeat, tho ye hed swoorn 
yer heart oot ; when Ah reead tull 
'em yer Loordship's last letter, 
they tost ther he e ads &n' gang ther 
gate, but yance gane they care nut 
a fart what Ah say tui 'em. Ah 
reead tul 'em twice yer Loord- 
ship's last orders, an' they haund- 
ed me t' Act o' Farlement, ye knaw 
what Ah meean ; co' Ah tul 'em 
is it sea te dea, the deeal gang wi' 
ye all, for there's neadippendance 
on 'em.. Yer Loordship may rist 
assuuredof my endivvers, that Ah 
will be wi' ye the day efter !Mun- 
day, wi' all Ah'm cappable o' 
bringin alang wi' me ; i' t' meean- 
time subscribe mysen yer Loord- 
ship's most obedent vassal an' 
humble sarvent te cummand, 

-, Chief Comtubble. 



THE YORKSHIRE TIKE. 

Ah iz i' truth a country youth, 

Neean us'd teea Lunnon fashions 
Yetvartue guides, an' still presides 
Ower all mah steps an' passions. 
Neea coortly leear, bud all sin- 
ceere, 
Neea bribe shall ivver blinnd 
me ; 
If thoo can like a Yorkshire tike, 
A rooague thoo'llnivver finnd 
me. 
Thof envy's tung, seea slimlee 
hung, 
Wad lee aboot oor country, 
Neea men o' t' eearth booast gre- 
ter wurth, 
Or mare extend ther boounty. 
Oor northern breeze wi' uz Mgrees, 

An' does for wark weel fit uz ; 
I' public cares, an' all affairs, 

Wi' honor we acquit uz. 
Seea gret a maund is ne'er con- 
fiand 
Tiv onny shire or nation ; 
They geean meeast praise weea 
weel displays 
A leearned iddicasion. 
Whahl rancour rolls i' lahtle souls, 

By shallo views dissarning, 
They're nobbut wise 'at ov\lus 
prize 
Gud manners.sensearKileecunin. 



THE 



LIFE OF 



WILLIAM NEVISON, 



Written hy Captain Johnson, 



AS arts and sciences of use and 
morality admit of improvement, 
so likewise those of villainy grow 
up with them ; the devil being as 
industrious to improve his follow- 
ers in the school of vice, as our 
best instructors are in those of 
virtue, which will be illustrated 
in the following memoirs of the 
life of William Nevison, who was 
born at Pontefract, in Yorkshire, 
about the year 1639, of well-reput- 
ed, honest, and reasonably estated 
parents, who bred him up at school, 
where he made some progress as 
to his learning, and in the spring 
of his youth promised a better 
harvest than the summer of his life 
produced ; for, to say the truth, 
he was very forward and hopeful, 
till he arrived at the age of thirteen 
or fourteen years, when he began 
to be the ringleader of all his young 
companions to rudeness and de- 
bauchery* 

So early as this he also took to 
thieving, and stole a silver spoon 
from his father; for which being 
severely punished at scnool, the 
punishment was the subject of the 
next night's meditation, which 
issued into a resolution of revenge 
on his master, whatever fate he 
met with in the execution thereof, 



to which end having hit on a 
project for his purpose, and lying 
in his father's chamber, he gets 
softly up before such time as the 
day appeared, and hearing that his 
father slept, he puts his hand into 
his pocket, where he found the 
key of his closet, which, unper- 
ceived, he drew thence, and down 
he creeps to the said closet, where 
he supplies himself with what cash 
he could readily find, which 
amounted to about ten pounds, and 
with this, knowing that his sa id 
master had a horse he took parti- 
cular delight in, that then grazed 
behind his house, he gets a bridle 
and a saddle from his father's 
stable, and an hour before morning, 
mounts the said horse onward for 
London, where he arrived within 
four days ; when the evening com- 
ing upon him, he cut the throat of 
the horse within a mile or two of 
the town, for fear he should prove 
a means of his discovery, if he 
should have carried it to an inn. 

When he came to London, he 
changed his garb and name, and 
being a lusty well-looking lad, put 
himself into the service of a 
brewer, where for two or three 
years he lived, not at all changed 
in mind, though opportunity was 



The Life of William Nevuon, 



not, during that lime, ripe to put 
his ill intention into practice, he 
watched all seasons to advance 
himself, by having several times 
attempted to rob his matter, which 
at last he thus effected. Taking 
the advantage one night of the 
clerk's drunkenness, who was his 
master's cashier, he got up by 
stealth after him into the compting 
house, where the said clerk falling 
asleep, he rifled the same of all 
such cash as he could conveniently 
come at, which amounted to near 
two hundred pounds, and fled to 
Holland, where running away with 
a burgher's daughter that had 
robbed her father of a great deal 
of money and jewels, he was ap- 
prehended, had the booty taken 
from him, and put in gaol ; and, 
had he not broke out, lie had cer- 
tainly made his exit beyond sea. 
Having thus made his escape, he 
got into Flanders, and listed him- 
self amongst theEnglish volunteers, 
who were under the command of 
the Duke of York, who about the 
same time was made lieutenant- 
general of the Spanish forces,under 
Don John of Austria, who were 
then designed to raise the siege of 
Dunkirk, which was besieged by 
the English and French armies, 
and behaved himself very well 
while he was in a military employ- 
ment ; but not greatly liking it, 
and having got come money whilst 
be was in the service, he came over 
to England, and bought himself a 
horse and arms, and resolving for 
the road, and perhaps a pleasant 
hfe, at the hazard of his neck, 
rather than toil out a long remain- 
der of unhappy days in want and 
poverty, which he was always 
averse to. Being thus supplied 
every day, one booty or other 
enriched his stores, which he would 
never admit a sharer in, chusing to 
manage his designs alone rather 
than trust his life in the hands of 
others, who by favour or misfortune 



might be drawn in to accuse him. 
One day Nevison, who went 
otherwise by the name of Johnson, 
travelling on the road, and soouring 
about in search of a prize, he met 
two countrymen, who coming up 
to him informed him, that it was 
very dangerous travelling forward, 
for that the way was set, and they 
had been robbed by three high- 
waymen, about half a mile off; and 
if he had any charge of money 
about him, it was his safest tourse 
to turn back. Nevison asked them 
what they had lost, they told him 
forty pounds ; whereupon he re- 
plied, " Turn back with me, and 
shew me the way they took, and 
my life to a farthing, I'll make 
them return you your money 
again." They rode along with him 
till they had sight of the highway- 
men : when Nevison ordering the 
countrymen to stay behind them 
at some distance, he rode up, and 
spoke to the foremost of them, 
saying, u Sir, by your garb, and 
the colour of your horse, you should 
be one of those lam looking after; 
and if so, my business is to tell 
you, that you borrowed of two 
friends of mine forty pounds, which 
they desired me to demand of you, 
and which before we part you 
must restore." li How \" quoth 
the highwayman, " forty pounds ! 
D — n you, Sir, what is the fellow 
mad?" " So mad," replied Nevison, 
" as that your life shall answer me, 
if you do not give me better satis- 
faction." With that he drew his 
pistol, and suddenly claps it to his 
breast, who finding that Nevison 
had also his rein, and that he 
could not get his sword or pistols, 
he yielded, telling him his life was 
at his mercy." " No, (says Nevi- 
son), 'tis not that I seek for, but 
the money you robbed these two 
men of, who are riding up to me, 
which you must refund. The thief 
was forced to consent, and readily 
to deliver such part thereof as he 



The Life of William Nevison., 



10 



had, saying his companions had 
the rest : so that Nevison haying 
made him dismount, and taking 
away his pistols, which he gave to 
the countrymen, ordered them to 
to secure him, and hold his own, 
whilst he took the thief s horse, 
antl pursued the other two, 
whom he soon overtook; for they, 
thinking him their companion, stopt 
as soon as they saw him ; so that 
he overtook them in the midst of 
a common. Ci How now, Jack, 
(says one of them), what made you 
engage with yon fellow ? " No, 
gentlemen," replies Nevison, " you 
are mistaken in your man Thomas. 
By the token of the horse and arms, 
he hath sent me to you for the 
ransom of his life, which comes to 
no less than the prize of the day, 
which if you presently surrender, 
you may go about your business ; 
if not, I must have a little dispute 
with you at sword or pistol." At 
which one of them let fly at him ; 
but missing his aim, received 
Nevison's bullet into his right 
shoulder ; and being thereby dis- 
abled, Nevison being about to 
discharge at the other, he called 
for quarter, and came to parley, 
which, in short, was made up, 
with Nevison's promise to send 
their friend, on their delivering 
him all the ready money they had, 
which amounted to 150 pounds 
and silver. With this Nevison 
rode back to the countrymen, and 
released their prisoner, giving them 
their whole forty pounds, with a 
caution, for the future, to look 
better after it, and not like cow- 
ards, as they were, to surrender 
the same on such easy terms again. 
In all his pranks he was very 
favourable to the female sex, who 
generally gave him the character 
of a civil obliging robber. He 
was charitable also to the poor, by 
relieving them out of the spoils 
which he took from those that 
could better spare itj and being 



a true royalist, he never attempted 
any thing against that party. One 
time Nevison meeting with an old 
sequestrator on the road, he stop- 
ped the coach, and demanded some 
of that money which he had thiev- 
ishly extorted from poor widows 
and orphans, and ought to be 
returned. At which words the 
old man, in a fit of terror, and 
especially too when a pistol was 
clapped to his breast, began to 
expostulate for his life ; offering 
whatsoever he had about him for 
his ransom, which he readily deli- 
vered, to the value of 60 broad 
pieces of gold. But this not 
serving his turn, Nevison told him 
that he must come hence, and go 
with him, about some other affairs 
he had to concert with him, and 
beg leave of three young gen- 
tlewomenthat were also passengers 
in the coach with him, that they 
would spare one of the coach 
horses for an hour or two, which 
should certainly be returned that 
night for the next day's journey. 
So Nevison left them and took his 
prize with him on the postillion's 
horse, which he loosed from the 
coach, and carried him from them 
in a great fright, thinking he 
was now near his end. The gen- 
tlewomen pursued their journey; 
and about two hours after they 
were got to the inn, in comes the 
sequestrator on the postillion's 
horse, and gave a lamentable rela- 
tion how he had been used, and 
forced to sign a bill under his 
hand, of £500 for his redemption, 
payable by a scrivener in London 
on sight, which he doubted not but 
would be received before he could 
prevent the same ; and indeed h* 
did not doubt amiss, for Nevison 
made the best of his way all night 
and the next day by noon received 
the money, to the no small vexation 
of him that owned it. % 

About the year 1661, having one 
day got a considerable prize, to 



to 



The Life of William Nevison. 



the value of £450, from a rich 
country grazier, with this he 
resolved to sit down quietly, and 
go back to Pontefract, where he 
was most joyfully received by his 
father, who never hearing of him 
in his absence of seven or eight 
years, thought he had been really 
dead. He lived very honestly 
with his father till he died, and 
then returned to his old courses 
again, committing such robberies 
as rendered his name the terror of 
the road : insomuch, that no car- 
rier or drover passed the same, 
but was either forced to compound 
for their safety by a certain tax, 
which he usually received from 
them at such and such houses, 
where he appointed them to leave 
it, or they were sure to be rifled 
for the failure thereof. 

Committing some robberies in 
Leicestershire, he was there com- 
mitted to Leicester gaol, where he 
was so narrowly watched, and so 
strongly ironed, that he could 
scarcely stir: yet, by, a cunning 
stratagem, he procured his enlarge- 
ment before the assizes came. 
For one day feigning himself 
extremely ill, he sent for two or 
three trusty friends, one of which 
was a physician, who gave out 
that he was sick of a pestilential 
fever ; and that unless he had the 
benefit of soms open air, in some 
chamber, he would certainly infect 
the whole gaol, and die of the said 
distemper. Hereupon the gaoler 
took off his fetters, and removed 
him into another room, to lie by 
himself. In the mean time a nurse 
was provided him, and his physi- 
cians came twice or thrice a day 
to visit him, who gave out there 
was no hopes of his life, and that 
his distemper was extremely con- 
tiguous; on which report, the 
gaoler's wife wonld not let her 
husband, nor any of his servants, 
go nearer than the door ; which 
gave Nevison's confederates full 



liberty to practice their intent, 
which they did thus: A painter 
was one day brought in, who made 
all over his breast blue spots, re^ 
sembling those that are the fore- 
runners of death, in the disease 
commonly called the plague ; as 
likewise several marks onhis hands 
face, and body, which are usually 
onnsuch that so die ; all which 
being done, the physician prepared 
a dose, whereby his spirits were 
confined for the space of an hour 
or two, and then immediately gave 
out that he was dead. Hereupon! 
his friends demanded his body, 
bringing a coffin to carry him away 
in. The gaoler, as customary, 
ordered a jury, the nurse having 
formally laid him out, to examine 
the cause of his death, who fearing 
the contagion he was said to die 
of, staid not long toconsider there- 
on ; but having viewed him, seeing 
the spots and marks of death about 
him, his eves set, and his jaws 
close muffled, they brought in 
their verdict, that he died of the 
plague ; and thereupon he was 
put in the coffin, and carried off. 

Being thus discharged, he fell 
to his former trade again, and 
meeting several of his old tenants, 
the carriers, who had used to pay 
him his rents as aforesaid, told 
them they must advance the same, 
for that his last imprisonment had 
cost him a great sum of money, 
which he expected to be reimburs- 
ed among them. They being 
strangely surprised at the sight of 
Mr. Nevison, (after the reports of 
his death), reported about that his 
ghost walked, and took upon it 
the employment he was wont when 
living, which was confirmed by the 
gaoler at Leicester, who had 
brought in the verdict of the jury 
on oath, who had examined the 
body, and found it dead as above- 
mentioned ; whereby he had been 
discharged by the court, as to the 
warrant of his commitment. But 



The Life of William Nevison. 



21 



afterwards, when the same came 
to be known, and the cheat detect- 
ed, the said gaoler was ordered to 
fetch him in at his peril. Where- 
upon great search was made for 
him in all places, and a reward of 
twenty pounds set upon his head 
for any person that should appre- 
hend him. 

Nevison, after this, was deter- 
mined to visit London ; and the 
company he happened to farl into 
upon the road, was a crew of com- 
ing beggars, pilgrims of the eartn, 
the offspring of Cain, vagabonds, 
and wanderers over the whole 
world, fit companions for such as 
made a trade of idleness and 
roguery, and these were at this 
time fit companions for him, who 
seeing the merry life they led, re- 
solved to make one of their com- 
pany; whereupon, after he had a 
little more ingratiated himself 
amongst them, and taking two or 
three cups of rum booze, he im- 
parted his intentions to one of the 
chief of them, telling him he was 
an apprentice, who had a bad 
master, whose cruelties had caused 
him to run away from him ; and 
that whatever fortune might betide 
him, yet should not the most ne- 
cessitous condition he should be 
plunged into, ever make him return 
to him again ; and therefore if he 
might be admitted into their 
society, he would faithfully observe 
and perform what rules and orders 
were imposed on him. The chief 
beggar very much applauded him 
for his resolution, telling him, that 
to be a beggar was to be a brave 
man, since it was then in fashion. 
'• Do not we," said he, u come 
into the world like arrant beggars, 
without a rag upon us ? and do not 
we all go out of the v/orld like 
beggars, without any thing, saviug 
only an old sheet over us? shall 
we then be ashamed to walk up 
and down in the world like beg- 
gars, with old blankets pinned 



about us ? Are we afraid of the 
approach of quarter-day ? Do we 
walk in fear of bailiffs, Serjeants, 
and catch-poles ? Who ever knew 
an errant beggar arrested for debt ? 
Is not our meat drest in every 
man's kitchen ? Does not every 
man's cellar afford us beer ? And 
the best men's purses keep a penny 
for us to spend." 

Having by these words, as he 
thought, fully fixed him in the love 
of begging, he then acquainted the 
company with Nevison's desires, 
who were all of them very joyful 
thereat, being as glad to add one 
to their society, as a Turk is to 
gain a proselyte to Mahomet. The 
first question they asked him was, 
if he had any Loure in his Bung? 
He stared on them, not knowing 
what they meant ; till, at last, one 
told him it was money in his purse. 
He told them he had but eighteen 
pence, which he freely gave them. 
This by a general vote, was con- 
demned to be spent in booze for 
his initiation. Then they com- 
manded him to kneel down, which 
being done, one of the chief of 
them took a gage of booze, which 
is a quart of drink, and poured 
the same on his head, saying, " I 
do by virtue of this sovereign 
liquor, instal thee in the roage, 
and make thee a free denizon of 
our ragged regiment. So that 
henceforth it shall be lawful for 
thee to cant, and to carry a doxy 
or mort along with thee, only ob- 
serving these rules : First, that 
thou art not to wander up and 
down all counties, but to keep to 
that allotted to thee : And, second- 
ly, thou art to give way to any of 
us that have borne all the offices 
of the wallet before ; and upon 
holding up a finger, to avoid any 
town .or country village, where 
thou seest we are going for victu- 
als for our army that march along 
with us. Observing these two 
rulef , we take thee into our pro- 



SONG, 



TOMMY TOWERS and ABRA- 
HAM MUGGINS, 

Or the Yorkshire Horse Dealers. 

Hard by Clapham town end lived 

an old Yorkshire tyke, 
Who in dealing in horses had never 

his like ; 
'Twas 'un pride that in all the hard 

bargains he'd hit, 
He'd bit a good many, but never 

got bit. 

Derry down, &e. 

This old Tommy Towers — by that 

name he was known, 
Had a carrion old tit that was 

sheer skin and bone, — 
To ha' killed for the dogs would 

ha* done quite as well, 
But 'was Tommy's opinion he'd 
j^ K die of himsel'. 

Derry down, &c. 

Well, one Abraham Muggins, a 

neighbouring cheat, 
Thought to diddle old Tommy 

would be a great treat ; 
He'd a horse that was better than 

Tommy's — for why? 
The night afore that he thought 

proper to die. 

Derry down, &c. 

Thinks Abraham,— the old codger 
will ne'er smoke the trick, 

So I'll swop wi' him my dead horse 
for his wick ; 

And if Tommy Towers .1 should 
happen to trap ) 



'Twill be a fine feather 'in Abra- 

ham's cap. 

Derry down, &c. 
So to Tommy he goes, and the 

question he pops, — 
" Between my horse and thine. 

prithee, Tommy, what swaps ? 
What will give me to boot ? for 

mine's better horse still." — 
" Nought," says Tommy ; " but i'll 

swop e'en hands if you will/ 

Derry down, &c. 

Abraham preached a long time 

about summat to boot, 
Insisting that his un's the livelier 

brute ; 
But Tommy stuck fast where he 

first had begun, 
Till, at last, he shook hands, and 

cried, " Well, Tommy, done.'' 

Derry down, &c. 

"Oh, Tommy," said Abraham, 

" I'ze soorry for thee ; 
I thought thou had'st hadden more 

white in thine ee ; 
Good luck wi' thy bargain, for my 

horse is dead." 
Said Tommy— " My lad, so is mine, 

and he's flead." 

Derry down, &c. 
So Tom got the best of the bargain, 

avast, 
And came off in a YorksMreman's 

triumph at last ; — 
For though 'twixt dead horses 

there's not much to choose, 
Yet Tommy were th' richer by the 

hide and four shoes ! 

Derry down, &c. 



FINIS 






SPECIMENS 

OF THE 

rikshire Dialect, 



BY WAY OF DIALOGUE, 



CONTAINING 



% SSialogue 



BETWEEN 

JULWELL, * LQjKDON REGISTER OFFICE KEEPER 

AND 

Margery Moorpoot, a CowUry Girl, 

DAISY, AN ECLOGUBy 

A COCK AND BULLPSTORY, 

H1REING, THE BELLMAN OF RIPON, 

The Yorkthir* Tyh* t £* 
To wMcb is added 

AND TH« 

of William Nevison. 

.LANDO HODGSON, 

Maiden Lane, Cheap side* 
1 W8. 




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L \BRA* Y OF 



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